


Whumptober 2020 - 19 - Scars

by Celticgal1041



Series: Whumptober 2020 [19]
Category: Magnum P.I. (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:41:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27108913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celticgal1041/pseuds/Celticgal1041
Summary: While Rick and TC would miss Nuzo, Magnum likely felt as though he’d lost a limb and had no idea how keep living.
Series: Whumptober 2020 [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949548
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Whumptober 2020 - 19 - Scars

The paddle sliced cleanly through the water, and he imagined with each powerful stroke that he was pushing past some of his grief. It had been three weeks since Nuzo’s death; three weeks of sleepless nights, of prowling the guesthouse and surrounding grounds, and of pretending he wasn’t already dead inside.

Rick and TC had stayed close in the first days after their friends’ passing, instinctively needing the nearness as a reminder that they still had each other. Magnum had listened to their stories and shared some of his own, drinking the obligatory beer, or occasionally something stronger, until the fresh wound of Nuzo’s passing had begun to scab over and heal. But he knew the time he spent with the other men was for them, and not for himself.

He would never forgive himself. Everyone had told him, repeatedly, that it wasn’t his fault that Nuzo was dead. There was no way he could have been any faster, smarter, or been a better shot when Sebastian’s captors had whisked him away to die. Thomas knew differently.

In life, you’re faced with countless choices, each of which create the future reality you’ll experience. Given the outcome of his decisions, he’d obviously made the wrong ones. The red lights he’d stopped for on the way to Nuzo’s house, clearly wrong; not managing to stop the men from leaving with his friend, also wrong; but worst of all had been not finding Sebastian in time, gazing instead at his tortured and lifeless countenance. There was nothing even remotely right about that.

Seeing Nuzo’s body in his mind’s eye had Magnum thrusting the paddle back into the water, his movements almost desperate as he tried to rid himself of the guilt of his many failings. He’d been out on the water for hours, time having lost all meaning as he quickly got lost inside his head.

He’d endured another never-ending night, the pattern all too painfully familiar after the past three weeks. Exhausted, he’d dozed off on his couch sometime after midnight, and the nightmares had begun within minutes of falling asleep. They were always the same, with minor variations that tormented him anew each time he dreamt. Last night it was Rick who’d died; the night before had been TC. Each time, he’d been too late, his actions woefully inadequate to save the men he loved as brothers, and his nightly failures were beginning to destroy him from the inside out.

Angry at his impotence, he swung the paddle around the front of the surf ski, propelling it into the water on his other side to speed the small craft’s journey through the water. His shoulders were burning with exertion, his lungs heaving for air, and he relished the physical discomforts of his self-imposed punishment. Still, it wasn’t enough, wouldn’t ever be enough, not as long as Nuzo was dead and he was still alive.

The thought was a jarring one, but not overly unpleasant, and he let his brain turn over the idea in his head. He’d never considered himself the suicidal type, and his friends would attest to the fact that he’d fought harder than anyone else they knew to stay alive during their time as POWs. Now, it seemed, whatever inner fire had driven him had dimmed to a mere spark, and he was having a tough time reigniting it and returning to the man he used to be before Sebastian’s untimely death.

Did he really want to die? He turned the question over and over in his mind, examining it from every angle. No, he decided as he dug the paddle into the water once more. It wasn’t that death was an appealing option, but that trading his life for Nuzo’s was. It was a trade he’d made multiple times in the past, each time their captors had come for one of them back in the Korengal.

He’d begged for the others to be spared; hurled threats and insults to turn their captors’ rage against him, doing practically anything to spare the others and ensure they continued to live. He never knew how much time he was bargaining for – whether he’d bought his friends a few hours or several days – but it didn’t matter, because every extra minute was worth it in his mind.

He gasped as he sent the paddle back into the water, strained muscles protesting their abuse at the unrelenting pace. Switching sides, he repeated the motion, grimacing as the once soothing motion caused more physical pain. Grudgingly, he pulled the paddle from the water and rested it across his lap, slumping forward as his exertion caught up to him.

God, he was messed up. The thought pulled a hitching sob from his chest, and moments later a torrent of tears followed. He simply sat there, letting the waves rock him while his emotions took over, too tired and in pain to even try to stop. When he was spent, his wiped a hand across his face, removing the evidence of his grief. If only the scars on his soul could be erased as easily.

A larger wave gripped the surf ski, carrying it high on its crest before depositing it back on the water again. The unexpected movement pulled him from his fugue and had him squinting against the sun’s glare that was uncomfortable even through sunglasses. Now that he was paying attention, he could hear the low thrum of an engine, and see the outline of a quickly approaching boat.

The vessel sent a spike of adrenaline through his weary body, and he shifted the paddle back into the water in anticipation of moving out of the boat’s way. As he observed the watercraft’s approach, the engine’s throbbing grew softer, indicating a reduction in speed. Several seconds later, he was able to recognize the craft as Robin’s, sending a spike of fear through his chest that something had happened to another of his friends.

Using the paddle, he kept the surf ski stationary as the boat approached, his fatigued muscles forgotten as worry took over. It seemed to take forever for the vessel to arrive, and when it finally did, he wasted no time manoeuvring himself to the rope and ladder that dangled from one side. Hastily, he secured the surf ski and then gripped the ladder in preparation to ascend. As he tried to pull himself up, his shoulder muscles screamed in protest, and he couldn’t keep the gasp of pain from slipping out through parted lips.

“You okay, Tommy?” Rick called from above where he’d been observing Magnum’s progress.

Thomas tried to peer up at his friend, but his neck muscles seized, so he settled for yelling back, “Yeah, I’m good.”

Biting his lower lip, he tried again, this time managing to grip a lower rung of the ladder, which wasn’t as painful as reaching higher. Incrementally, he pulled himself to his feet, his leg muscles stiff and his back protesting every inch of movement. On trembling legs, he shifted in the surf ski until his body was positioned to climb up the ladder. Sighing, he thought to himself, ‘This is gonna suck.’

He’d never been sorrier to be right. Every shift of his arms and legs pulled on a multitude of sore and screaming muscles. His arms burned, and his back spasmed, and he’d think back later what a miracle it had been that he’d somehow managed to reach the top where Rick was waiting to pull him onto the deck.

While Wright’s hands helping him over the side were meant to be helpful, Magnum couldn’t hold back a short yelp of pain as the force exerted by his friend tugged on overtaxed muscles. “Geez, Tommy, are you okay?” Rick asked at once, his hands now gently resting on the former SEAL’s upper arms.

Thomas nodded. “Yeah, jus’ kinda sore,” he slurred, surprised at the amount of effort it was taking to form words. Based on the furrow that immediately appeared on Rick’s brow, Magnum’s speech was causing him concern as well.

“How about you come take a seat,” Wright suggested, already steering his friend over to a nearby cushioned bench where TC was waiting.

Magnum managed a controlled drop onto the seat, likely more due to Rick’s support than any action on his part. “Here, drink,” TC ordered, holding a bottle of water in front of Thomas’ face.

Magnum reached for the bottle, stopping partway as the muscles across his upper back tightened and angrily complained. A soft grunt escaped his throat as he shakily dropped his arm back to his lap, an expression of confusion and pain coloring his features. “Overdid things a bit, did we?” Rick asked, keeping his tone light despite the concern shadowing his eyes.

“Here, open,” TC tried again, this time holding the bottle to Thomas’ dry and cracked lips. The water felt incredible going down and Magnum wondered idly when he’d last had something to drink. When he’d finished, Rick and TC sat down, the former beside, and the latter man across from him.

“You were out here a long time,” Wright began, wondering if Magnum even realized how long his absence had stretched.

“I’m fine” Thomas replied, the familiar phrase slipping out thoughtlessly. Rick and TC scowled at him unhappily in reply.

“You don’t seem very fine,” Calvin countered, unable to look away from the dark bruising beneath both eyes and the worn, slumped shape of the other man’s shoulders.

Magnum began to shrug in reply, catching himself at the last moment and avoiding the pain the motion would have caused him. He sighed tiredly, too weary to have this discussion with his friends, and wishing they’d just leave him alone. As if reading his thoughts, Rick said, “We’re not going to drop this, Tommy. Ever since Nuzo’s funeral you’ve been…” he trailed off, searching for the right words.

Haunted? Withdrawn? Guilty beyond measure that it was Nuzo who died instead of me? The words flashed unbidden through Thomas’ mind, and he winced at their accuracy.

“Punishing yourself,” Rick finally finished. “You don’t sleep, you barely eat, and you spend hours on that damn surf ski whenever you’re not on a case.”

“It’s not healthy, TM,” Calvin added, needing their friend to know how worried they were about him. “It’s destructive.”

Magnum snorted softly. “Look, I’ve been kind of unbalanced since Nuzo died.” He found himself swallowing thickly over the last word, surprised he’d even been able to get it out. “But I’m fine.”

“Not sure you know the meaning of the word, buddy,” Rick replied gently, needing the investigator to realize how poorly he was coping with the death of their fourth.

“We’re not telling you not to grieve,” TC began. “But there’s better ways than constantly punishing yourself for something you had absolutely no control over.”

And maybe that was the crux of the matter. Magnum wouldn’t consider himself a control freak, but he’d always had a hand in things that affected him and those he cared about. Whether it was throwing himself into the line of fire during deployment or taking the brunt of someone’s anger while working a case. It was part of who he was and a habit that came as naturally to him as breathing.

A lack of control suggested he couldn’t somehow influence things in his favour. Small things like not being caught speeding when he pushed the Ferrari just a little faster than was strictly legal; like riling up the dogs when he was just a few feet from safety, knowing they would never be able to reach him in time. Or the bigger things, like keeping Rick, TC, Higgins, and even Katsumoto safe; making sure their families never knew the pain of losing a loved one and facing a dark, empty pit devoid of hope, day in and day out. A sob caught in his throat, moisture welling unbidden in his eyes.

Before anything more could be said, Higgins appeared from belowdecks. “I found some sunburn cream,” she said as she moved closer, holding a tube up in one hand. “I’ve also got some muscle relaxants from my injury last year,” she went on, this time shaking a bottle of pills.

Magnum appeared to startle at her arrival, the small motion catching Juliet’s eye and causing her to halt and take a proper look at the P.I. Over the previous weeks, she’d been aware of Thomas’ declining condition, often seeing him on the estate’s overnight security footage as he aimlessly wandered the grounds. While he’d always sought solace in the water, his surf ski sessions were now bordering on manic, and she recognized the haunted look in his eyes as the same one she’d worn after the death of a close friend.

She knew he needed help but didn’t know what to do. Worse, she wasn’t sure he’d even accept her help, possibly labeling it as interference; such was the newness of their relationship. Instead, she’d focused on what she could control, and deviously planted a tracker in the surf ski, preparing for the eventuality that she and his other two friends would need to find Magnum and intervene. Today had been that day.

Now, as she took in his countenance, she saw a man utterly despondent and without hope. It was the very opposite of the man she’d come to know, and the dissonance jarred her both physically and mentally. Clearing her throat, she reached a decision. “I’ll just leave these here with you,” she said as she handed the items off to TC. “Since you seem to have things well in hand, I’ll get us heading towards home.” With that, she turned from the trio to head back to the bridge, recognizing her presence could bring more harm than good.

Rick watched her leave with a look of admiration on his face. Higgins had read the situation correctly and knew this was a wound they needed to deal with themselves. While Juliet had been welcomed into their midst with open arms, Nuzo’s loss was private, and they needed to work through it away from others’ eyes.

TC shifted to sit on Thomas’ other side while Rick just moved closer, their physical presence grounding and comforting the other man in ways nothing else could. “I miss him,” Magnum sobbed out, no longer able to keep a lid on the hurt that had been eating away at him since discovering Nuzo’s body.

Neither man spoke, each putting an arm around their former teammate as he cried. Nuzo’s death had hit them all hard, but the relationship between Sebastian and Thomas had been different; their connection had been forged in the brotherhood and adversity of BUD/S, something that neither of the other two could relate to. While Rick and TC would miss their fourth, Magnum likely felt as though he’d lost a limb and had no idea how keep living.

When Thomas’ tears had run dry, they continued to press gently against him, knowing that his weariness from before would be nothing compared to how he was feeling now. As a result, neither man was surprised when Magnum seemed to melt between them, TC tugging their friend towards him and letting him rest against his chest.

“You got ‘im?” Rick softly asked before releasing his hold.

TC nodded in reply, wrapping his other arm around the dozing man and letting his chin rest on Magnum’s head. “He needed this,” he whispered back, both men having been waiting for the day when Thomas broke apart so they could begin helping put the pieces back together again.

“Yeah, Nuzo’s passing left a gaping hole in his heart,” Rick agreed, noting the pained expression that colored Magnum’s features, even in sleep.

“True, but in time that hole will heal, and the scars will fade,” TC extended, certain Thomas was strong enough to survive their brother’s passing.

“And until then, he’s got us,” Rick finished seeing his sentiment reflected just as fiercely in TC’s eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to AZGirl for proofing; all remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> This story was based on the day 19 prompt: Broken hearts: grief / mourning loved one / survivor’s guilt
> 
> Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts if you're so inclined!


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